


You Count

by FairyRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyRose/pseuds/FairyRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock shows Molly what she means to him and says good-bye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Count

"If I wasn't everything you think I am, that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

She looked him straight in the eye a on and took a deep breath. "What do you need?"

He returned her look, closing the distance between them. "You."

###############################################

The word had hung in the air for a moment before Molly had lead him back to her office. They spoke at length about what he needed from her and what was coming. He was regretful for the burden he was placing on her. He knew she would live up to it, she hadn't failed her yet.

Molly had always been a bit of a mystery to him. Someone he, Sherlock Holmes, couldn't completely read. Like John, she had always been a truly loyal friend. Never giving up on him and always giving him anything he needed despite all the cruel, hurtful things he said to her. Unlike John who never hesitated to call him on his behavior Molly only ever lost her patience with him when he had hurt her one too many times. Also like John once her anger had been vented she was back to her compassionate, forgiving self. While John's loyalty had lead him to kill a man for Sherlock Molly's manifested itself in a far more dangerous manner, love. Molly Hooper was hopelessly in love with him. He had never been able to figure out if she fell in love with him before she became so devoted or if she became so devoted because she loved him. He supposed it didn't matter, love him she did. Even he wasn't so naïve as to not see it. See it, yes, understand it, never. He had even, shamefully, taken advantage of it in the past. Now here he was again, asking for a favor he knew he didn't deserve. At least this time she was offering, he wasn't going to have to manipulate her.

They had fallen silent now, having said all that needed to be said. Their plans firmly settled. Molly had taken one if his hands in hers stroking the back with her thumb. He wasn't sure what prompted his actions, he just knew he had to show her what she meant to him. That she did count.

He pulled her into his arms as his lips found hers. He had only intended to be a gentle kiss. A gesture of thanks and affection meant to show her what she was to him. The moment his lips touched hers a fire ignited within him. He pulled her more firmly against him, tracing his lips along the seam of her lips seeking admission. She opened to him, his tongue darting in, exploring her mouth with determination.

His hands were resting on her hips his thumbs stroking the skin above her waistband as he pulled her into his lap. He allowed his hands to wander up her back under her blouse delighting in the silken warmth of her skin. Desperately needing air Sherlock pulled away from her mouth but almost immediately attacked her neck, earning himself a breathy moan for his efforts. He found himself quite delighted on feeling her nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt and released a moan of his own when she rocked her hips against his own rapidly growing arousal. In retaliation he nipped at her collarbone as he brought his hands up to cup her breasts, flicking his thumbs across her nipples. He was mesmerized by the feel of her in his hands. Her breasts filling them just right. He had to see them. He lifted her arms, pulling her blouse over her head flinging it to a dark corner of the room.

That is just so Molly, he thought as he bra was revealed. Comfortable, practical, soft, no unnecessary, needless frills, but unbearably feminine, just like its wearer. As enticing as her underclothes were he was aching for what was underneath. He kissed the skin on display as he ran his hands up her back searching for the clasp.

Molly giggled at his frustrated growl when he was unable to find it. "It unhooks in the front, Sherlock," she told him highly amused at his frustration.

"Well, who's stupid invention is that? Playing with a man's….OH!" he breathed as her breasts were revealed. "Best invention ever," he mumbled to himself as he lowered his head to one firm pink nipple.

"Oh," she breathed as he tormented her breasts with his mouth and fingers. Dear lord, she's soft, he thought as he stroked and kissed as much of her as he could reach. Their positions were wrong, he was fit but he wasn't a contortionist. He settled his hand's under her bottom, lifted her and spun her around, laying her on her back on the sofa. Now he had access to the rest of her, he slowly kissed and stroked his way down her torso.

He was mesmerized by the play of her muscles and the way the moonlight fell on her alabaster skin. Her stomach muscles clenched and she giggled when he dipped his tongue into her navel. Her hips were squirming against the cushions, he knew what she wanted. He had every intention of giving it to her, he planned to spend a great deal of time worshiping at the alter of Molly Hooper. He popped the button of her trousers and lowered the zip, he sat back and shrugged off his jacket and shirt then returned to pull off Molly's trousers and pants together, her shoes long since abandoned.

Oh, she was glorious. How could he have missed this, missed the goddess in the moonlight that lay before him. He could smell her arousal, she smelled heavenly. He brought his thumb to caress her inviting little bundle and blew on her wetness. Molly moaned at the sensation and squirmed against his hand. He brought his mouth to play, tasting her wetness. Her flavor exploded on his tongue, with a feral growl he dove into her his lips replacing his thumb on her clit. She cried out as he put one long finger into her. She was writhing against him as he inserted a second finger. Her fingers had a death grip in his hair, holding him in place. As if he could possibly wish to be anyplace else. He could tell she was close, her breathy moans nearly coming as tears. Curling his fingers and scraping his teeth over her she came crying his name.

He kept stroking, gentling her as she came down from her high. Tugging gently at his hair she pulled him back up for a kiss, surely tasting herself aroused him more than anything else so far, her enjoying the taste of herself on his lips. She sighed in contentment as she pulled away from his kiss.

"That was fabulous, Sherlock. Thank you." She grinned mischievously. "Now, allow me to return the favour."

He allowed her to push him back into a sitting position and raised his eyebrows as she went to her knees on the floor in front of him. Highly aroused, he watched as she removed his shoes and sockes, and smiled when she wrinkled her nose at the aroma. Ah, well, he and John had just spent the bettter part of the last few hours running from the police. She then ran her hands up his legs to his waistband. She undid his button and zip, he lifted his hips allowing her to remove them. He smirked with satisfaction when she smiled amd licked her lips as his manhood was reveled to her. He groaned as her warm breath ghosted over his cock and it twitched in response.

She wasn't going to, she couldn't, he didn't deserve that…his brain short circuited as she enveloped him in the warm heat of her mouth. He released a tortured groan as she bobbed her head. So good, too good, if he allowed her to continue he wouldn't last and he wasn't finished with her yet.

With the fingers that were wrapped in her hair he gently pulled her off of him, shivering at the whiney sound from her mouth.

"God, Molly. As good as that is, luv, I want to finish buried inside you."

She squeeled at the very thought climbing into his lap positioning herself over him. Looking deep into his eyes she sank down onto him. They both moaned at the contact. She was so warm, so tight, she fit around him as if they were made for each other. She began to move, rocking her hips and rising up just a bit before dropping back down again. After a few minutes of watching her with fascination he thrust up into her as she came down. She cried out at the extra stimulation. Her breath was becoming short, he could feel her muscles begin to clench around him. He brought her thumb up to her clit and sucked a breast into his mouth. Molly flew apart at the added stimulation, crying out his name and arching her back pressing her breast harder into his mouth.

She collapsed, panting against hs chest, with him stroking up and down her back. He could feel her breath slowly returning to normal. She swam back to awareness wiggling her hips a bit, Sherlock laughed as she realized he was still hard inside her. She looked into his eyes as without warning he surged up and had her on her back again. One leg over his shoulder the other gripping his waist. He slid deeper into her groaning. Pushing into her, hard and fast pounding into her with everyting he had, he was aware that Molly was on the edge again. He shifted his angle just a bit, rubbung against her bundle with every stroke.

"C'mon, Molly, one more time." He fallowed her over her name on his lips.

As he swam back to conciousness he realized he must be crushing her.. He pulled out, both of them hissing at the stimulation of oversensitized bodies. He rolled to his side, his back toward the empty room pulling Molly against him. Then, suprising even himself, he dropped off into a doze.

He awoke a short time later still wrapped around Molly. Carefully, gently he disentangled himself from her and dressed in silence. He covered her with a shawl he found draped over the back of her desk chair.

He laid a gentle kiss upon her forehead and turned to go. At the door he turned for one last look. He wouldn't be seeing her again. He trusted that she would carry out her share of the plan with success.

The end was coming quickly. His friends, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, they would mourn him and that he regretted. But Molly, Molly would know the truth. She would comfort them. He fervently hoped she wouldn't suffer too greatly.

"Good-bye, Molly. Thank you." With that he turned and walked away, off to meet his fate


	2. 9 Months Later

He looked at the screen before him as if it showed him another world, perhaps it did. The image frozen there, the exhausted but joyous woman and the happy little man, stirred within him a whirlpool of emotions. Guilt , anger, fear, remorse, and, yes, jealousy.  
"Do you plan to say something or are you going to continue to stare at the computer as if it might bite?  
"Was it terrible for her, Mycroft. Did she suffer much?"  
" She gave birth, Sherlock. It's rather painful, I'm told. John was there to help her through it. They both held up well.  
A baby. Molly had had a baby. His baby.  
They'd only had the one night together. A night meant to comfort and be a reminder of life in the face of his "death", had created this new life.  
He"d thought about it afterward. They had shared such pleasure in Molly's little office. The memory of it still invaded his dreams.  
He was usually smarter than that. Contrary to what others thought, he wasn't inexperienced with women. He just wasn't driven by the pursuit of sex like most men and he didn't feel the need to discuss his conquests. He always used a condom. He never wanted any of his partners to have that kind of hold on him. The kind of hold he had given Molly without even thinking twice. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.  
He found it unbearably right. Molly had been the first person to love him for what he was she should be the one to nurture his son.  
How unfair. There was John, with his arm supporting an exhausted Molly, grinning ear to ear where Sherlock himself should be. John holding the tiny creature while his own father could not. Still, He thought, John will probably be a better father than I could ever be.  
He could never claim the child anyway. If this debacle with Morarity had taught him anything, it was that anyone close to him was in danger. If an enemy could make him walk away from everything in his life that mattered by threatening his friends, what might they be able to make him do if they threatened his child. Anything, he knew, and that terrified him. No, staying away from the boy was the best for all concerned.   
Poor Molly, though. As if it wasn't bad enough that she had to lie to his friends, now she would have to sped the rest of her life lying to her --their-- child. Why hadn't he been more careful?  
Still, he couldn't regret the turn of events. A new life, new possibilities. Even he wasn't so jaded that he couldn't appreciate the wonder of the life he had helped create. Would his son be a (tortured) genius, like himself, or stunningly ordinary, like everyone else. Never normal, not with a mum like Molly Hooper and John Watson as an uncle. Sherlock's brilliance tempered by their infinite patience and compassion. A stunningly daunting individual. He found himself grinning at the thought. Look out world, here he comes.  
"Does John know that the boy is my son?"  
"I believe he does. Though what story Dr. Hooper concocted to explain I do not know. Incidentally, I believe she made him the boy's godfather."  
His grin widened thinking about John's reaction to that request. "I'll bet he was thrilled. I'm glad, he'll be a good influence on the child and a good support for Molly. Speaking of Molly ans support... What has been done to ensure that they are both properly taken care of?  
"An inheritance from a distant relative in America. The funds can never be traced back to anyone connected to you. Don't worry brother. You're son and his mother will be well provided for." Mycroft began shifting in his chair, preparing to rise." I really must be off. I only came personally because Dr. Hooper insisted. She thought you might wish to see me."  
"Thank-you, Mycroft." He said as his brother rose to leave. He thought of another question as Mycroft gathered his umbrella and overcoat. "What did she name him?" How was that not the very first question he asked. Maybe there really was something wrong with him.  
"Benedict John Hooper. She agreed that giving him our family mane could be hazardous to his health. Dr. Watson thought it was a shame that your child could not carry your name but agreed it was probably too dangerous. Good-bye." And he was out the door.   
Sherlock looked back at the image on his computer screen. Absently, he stroked his finger across the cheek of the bundle in Molly's arms.  
"Welcome to the world Benedict. Though we may never meet, I swear I will do all in my power to assure that your life is truly blessed." Pulling himself together he closed the video player and went back to work ferreting out Moriarty's minions.


End file.
